


A burden shared is a burden halved

by TuskFM



Series: The Migraine Suite [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emetophobia, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Protective Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, and a real migraine not a headache, but he's the one fitting the hurt part of the hurt/comfort tag, joe / yusuf al-kaysani centric, sorta? not technically? but it's in the vibe of him caring for joe so using that tag anyway, the hurt joe tag is used losely too it's not technically a wound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26803078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuskFM/pseuds/TuskFM
Summary: “Joe?” Nico appears by his side and there’s a look on his face.“What?” He sits up immediately, winces as his back cracks in a couple places.“Are you okay?”“Sure.”“You said ‘pebble’."“No. I said uh- I said yes to the uh- the thing.” There’s a beat of silence where he tries his best to not feel like an idiot. “The drink!” He blurts, snaping his fingers and ohno. The last one was barely two weeks ago, he thought he would have more time before the next one.“Aura?” Nicolo asks as his face closes off with worry.-Nicky cares for Joe when he has a migraine.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: The Migraine Suite [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041210
Comments: 30
Kudos: 183





	A burden shared is a burden halved

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, it’s me, projecting again on fictional character. Everything here is mostly my own experiences with migraines, and while I’m pretty sure mine are fairly common, they are certainly not the rule and symptoms vary greatly between people. Though everyone will agree that they are serious pain in the ass and no they’re not headache please stop telling me to drink more water that won’t work. What I need is a new brain that doesn’t think debilitating pain every couple week is a fun activity to do.
> 
> Anyway, here’s me projecting to the universe that I would like a gf like Nicky please and thank you.
> 
> TW: mention of pain and pain medication. There’s no abuse of it and they are used in a responsible way, but it’s mentioned many times that Joe takes painkiller. Also, Joe skips meals and puke because of the migraine. It’s not dived deep into but I’d rather warn for that.

Being a student is both the best and the worst. On one hand, he gets to spend his days learning and reading and he study a field he’s deeply interested in. On the other hand, he has to work every day on those things and finish assignments, and not all of them are the most interesting and fulfilling kind. All of that under the pressure of deadline he writes down in every calendar within reach. His master in literature and history both bring him purpose and fills him with dread.

Dread such as today, when he has to finish a particularly boring essay before midnight. He’s been putting it off for days, and now he must face the consequences of it. He hates past him. He’s been looking through his notes and compiling references for the entire afternoon and the words are starting to get mixed up on the screen. He’ll take a break in five minutes once he’s done with the introduction. He can’t even get the first line right. All he can think of is finishing this thing so he can finally settle for the week end with his boyfriend and enjoy a couple days deadline free.

“Joe, you want a coffee?” Nicolo asks from the kitchen effectively pulling him out of his thoughts. Right, the essay. He pushes his glasses up his nose and answer by an affirmative still rewriting the same line for the fifth time, unable to have it make sense. He groans and delete it again, this time trying to put the verb at the end, see if it makes it any better.

“Joe?” Nicolo appears by his side and there’s a look on his face.

“What?” He sits up immediately, winces as his back cracks in a couple places. He should really learn to sit straight or he’ll regret it at thirty.

“Are you okay?”

“Sure.”

“You said ‘pebble’.”

“No. I said- I said yes to the uh- the thing.” There’s a beat where he tries his best to not feel like an idiot. “The drink!” He blurts out, snaping his fingers and oh _no_. The last one was barely two weeks ago, he thought he would have more time before the next one.

“Aura?” Nicolo ask as his face closes off with worry. Joe takes off his glasses, look at the window and yeah. The light is dancing in front of his eyes, edge of his vision blurred and words hangs off the tip of tongue, unable to grasp them and push them out. A dysphasic aura the doctor his mom took him to as a teen had called it. Fuck.

“Indeed.” Nico says so he must have found that word and said it out loud. “I’ll get your meds; you should stop for today.”

“I can’t, this- shit, the uh, the professor. She doesn’t take late work. I really can’t fail the-” Stupid aura and stupid brain, he hates this part almost as much as the migraine itself.

“Class?” Nicolo offers, and Joe nods.

“Yeah, I can’t fail the class. I need it.” The thing is, he’s been dealing with migraine pretty much half his life at this point. Fourteen whole year.

He knows screens are one of his biggest triggers with temperature changes and stress; and the one thing that worsen them every single time. That’s why he wears glasses when he’s got a good vision because there’s a fancy blue light treatment on them, he keeps all his devices to the lowest screen light setting, has the ugly yellow filter on his phone. Hell, he doesn’t even look at his phone in the dark for this exact reason, he always turns on a light.

The ideal thing to do right now would be to take his meds, turns off his computer and go sleep, with some luck he’d sleep it off before it settles. But that’s the ideal option. And he can’t do that. So he takes two minutes to mourn the perfect week end they had planned --Quynh has found an Indian restaurant tucked away in a little dead end street that she says is delicious and wanted to take them there and on Sunday him and Nicolo were supposed to go hiking near that lake they found the other day. A romantic picnic of sort, which he had been looking forward to for at least an entire month.

He wants to scream. Instead he puts his glasses back on, finishes the last of his bottle and the glass of water Nicolo hands him with his meds and he gets back to work. He has about half an hour before the aura stops, then he gets four hours before the migraine is there. Well, four in a perfect setting, it’s more like two if he works on his laptop. Then he can maybe stretch an hour or two with the pain before it gets too unbearable and he needs to stop before sending the wrong file to his professor. Happened once, don’t want to make the mistake again.

So, four hours. He can finish an entire paper he put off for weeks in four hours. He can do it. A literature essay is basically bullshitting your way through everything, right?

***

The aura passes quicker than he thought, and he uses the couple hours he has to speed through the researches and bibliography. By the time the pain settles in, he has the plan laid out and he only needs to fill it out with coherent words. Which, easier said than done when your brain is trying to break free of the skull by force. Deep breath in, out, and he pushes the pain out of his consciousness. It’s there, at he edges, lurking and waiting for when he’ll let his guard down, but he’s got it under control for now.

Nicolo makes himself scarce, only interrupting him once to bring him another glass of water and inform him that he let Quynh and their friends know about his migraine and that they’ll definitely get coffee Tuesday before class to make up for it. They’re also planning another night for the restaurant next week, and Joe could cry. He settles for a quick kiss but he mentions plenty how much he loves him and how great Nicolo is.

An hour later and the pain is growing and growing, the screen wavering in front of his eyes. Joe knows he shouldn’t push. He knows he should stop but he can’t. He knows he’ll regret it bitterly later, acknowledge it and keeps writing. By the time he proofs read the thing one last time the sun has started to set already, projecting long golden shadows into their flat. He quickly drafts the mail to the professor and join file –check twice it’s the right one too.

As soon as he hits send his shoulders drops and he can’t ignore the pressure behind his eyes any longer. He closes the laptop without turning it off --it’s at ten something percent of battery, it’ll die out on his own, it’s fine-- and his glasses end up somewhere on the table. He doesn’t care where, as long as he can rub his fingers against his eyes and finally shut off the light.

“Come on.” Nicolo is there already, hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him to stand up. “You’re going into the dark room.” That’s how he’s taken to call their bedroom when Joe has a migraine, the safe place where he’s shielded from everything. That’s where they have the heavy doubled black curtains and the only AC they own because a cool room always helps and it’s also the one room they made sure has as best a sound insulation as possible. The window gives to a small private garden instead of the busy street, shutting off sounds even more.

“I’m fine.” He says until he stands up, gets a rush of blood to his head and then everything is turning around him.

“Okay, what we’re not gonna do is try to not do _that_ again.” Nicolo puts his hands by his hips and Joe wishes he had more strength but he can’t help it. He slams his head into Nicky’s chest, who smells like detergent and spices, certainly from what he’s been cooking for the past hour in the kitchen. The strong smell makes the throbbing worse in his head. Nicolò, kind Nicolò doesn’t laugh, he keeps a strong hand at his hip and places the other at the nape of his neck and play with the curls at the edge of his shirt’s neckline. Joe slowly breathes until the ground feels more stable under his feet, and then he indulges some more before pushing away. He’s still unsteady but now he feels like he can at least walk straight.

“I’m just- Gonna go crash.”

“I’ll stop the stove; I’ll be right there.” Nicolo says and really, it’s an excuse to let Joe be alone. He knows he won’t be doing anything any time soon, and they’ve talked about it before. He likes to settle in the room on his own, makes him feel less guilty, less of a burden. Nicolo has stopped trying to argue against him and instead work to show Joe he isn’t. And he’s wrong, obviously he’s wrong and he knows it. It’s just hard to remain objective when in pain.

Nicolo kiss him under the eye, then under the other and walks back to the kitchen. Joe stumbles to the bathroom, hands on the walls because he refuses to open his eyes.

It’s easy enough to shed his jean and socks and shirt and dump them all in the dirty clothes basket, he keeps the t-shirt on because he honestly can’t muster the strength to change into his sleep shirt, so it’ll have to do. He washes his face, check the hour –over four hours since the first one, he grabs the lighter dosage med bottle-- and take another pill because it’s gonna be a bad one, he can feel it and then stumbles father down the corridor to their room where he promptly falls face first into the mattress, over the covers.

He did grab the bucket under the bathroom sink they keep there for this exact reason because more than once he wasn’t quick enough to reach the toilet and washing a piece of plastic is easier than washing a carpet or bed sheets. He hopes he put it near enough the bed that he can grab it easily. He knows Nicolo will get it if it rolled away.

He quickly tunes out of the flat sound because it’s only light traffic and Nico is always careful to not make noise. He will take twice as much time to clean the dishes because he always lay the plates carefully next to one another rather than make a big pile and handle the cutlery with too much care. Joe loves him so much, sometimes it feels like his heart could burst from the vastness of his affection.

He does hear when the door opens, listen as Nicolo pads through the room, closes the curtains with the soft sound of tissue and metal sliding against metal, put away a couple things laying around, pushing closed their dresser’s drawers. Gets out, comes back so quickly Joe wonders if he did pass out for a moment.

“I got you a cold clothe.” Nicolo says, and Joe slowly turn his head away from the mattress so that he can take the wet washcloth and lay it over his forehead. Cold water drips from it but it feels so good, he doesn’t care the least about the pillows.

“ _Grazie_.” He mumbles. He hears Nicolo take the bucket and set it-- closer he guesses, he still refuses to open his eyes. A hand caress his hair but it’s gone as soon as it touched him and Joe doesn’t want to mourn its loss.

“No… Stay.” He asks, voice small and pitiful and Nicolo’s is gentle when he speaks.

“Of course, my love. I’m just taking my jeans off.” True to his word, soon enough the bed dips on the other side and Nicolo is laying down next to him. Joe usually likes to hug when he sleeps, it’s comforting to feel his love against him. But tonight, he gravitates to Nico who wraps his arms around his shoulder and tuck him close to his chest. It’s grounding, to feel a body under his hands, something real and tangible. The warmth of the cover, the comfortable clothes, the darkness and quiet he can finally have; it all allows Joe to relax a bit despite the pain building stronger and stronger behind his eyes. In thirty minute he’ll feel bad again but for now he enjoys the few moment of pretend peace he can get. Peace before the storm his tired mind helpfully supplies. It always takes a while for his brain to really get going with the migraine when he pushes through an attack.

Nicolo always had cold feet and hands and Joe usually complains about it before getting him thick socks and holding his hands to warm them up. But he’s always grateful for the cool fingers that soothes his shoulders and neck, gently massaging the tense muscles there.

He takes a breath in, try to control the crushing in his skull and instead concentrate on the feeling of Nicolo’s fingers against his skin. He manages to drift off to sleep soon enough, and for that he is grateful. He’ll get a good twenty minute before the pain wakes him up.

***

For the two following days his time is spent between sleeping, trying not to cry too loudly from the hammering in his head as he waits for the exhaustion to grow stronger than the pain, timing and staring at the clock for to know when he can take another pill, eating plain white rice, trying to fight against the nausea and puking the rice a couple hours later.

Nicolo comes by his side as he heaves into the toilet bowl, smoothing back his hair even though it is not nearly long enough to risk being stained by sick. But his cool fingers feel divine against his aching skull and clammy, burning skin.

Nico gives him tissue to blow his nose and a cup of cold water to rinse his mouth before guiding him back to the room, the entire flat plunged in darkness by Nicolo’s thoughtfulness.

“You don’t have to.” He slurs in Arabic, too tired to think into another language.

“We have had this conversation dozens of time Yusuf.” Nicolo answers in kind and help him sit in the bed. Joe bends his body forward and tilt his head between his knee. There’s a twinge in his back but it feels like a welcomed distraction to the migraine splitting his skull in half. He can’t even stand up without feel dizzy. “I’m not doing anything out of obligation. I do it out of love. If I can make your suffering a little bit more bearable then I’ll do it. Closing a couple curtains and bringing you water isn’t a hardship my love.”

“You should not be cleaning up my puke.” He says, and he knows it’s the pain and exhaustion making him say unjust things but he cannot help it. Past the thirty-six hours mark he gets awfully emotional and insecure and irritable. He should be sitting with Quynh and Andy sharing a sweet drink, not lying in bed chugging water in a desperate attempt at making the pain pass quicker.

“And you should not spend nights helping me grade test and review my lectures. And yet you do. It’s the pain talking; for now can you simply believe that I love you? Isn’t that enough?”

“I hate you.” He mumbles and tries to gently lay down in the bed. He fails and lamentably falls into the cover and the jostle feels like hell to his head. The pillow is too hard, too hot against his skin. “You’re taking advantages of my condition. You can only win arguments when I have a migraine. You cheater.” There it is, the irritable. He’ll regret it when he emerges from the pain, if he remembers saying it. He’s uncharitable with his Nicolo, who often renders him speechless.

“Before you beat yourself over that, I know you don’t mean it.” See, so uncharitable with his man. “I need to leave for a couple hours, you’re gonna be okay?” He asks, and Joe feels awful that they’ll be leaving off with mean words.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I think it’s finally passing I’m not nauseous anymore. I’m just gonna sleep now.” He reaches for Nicolo who takes his hand. “I’m sorry. You’re not a cheater. You’re very smart. And I love you.”

“You’re tired my love, it’s okay. But-” And he kisses his knuckles. “Apologies accepted, no hard feeling. I love you too cuore mio.” He stands up and kiss the crown of his head. The pet name broke the streak of Arabic, he continues in his native Italian. “Get some rest, I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

***

Joe wakes up with Nicolo in the bed, sitting up against the headboard and watching something on the tablet with his earbuds in. Once again, the love feels immense in his throat, and in a foggy haze he rolls over and tuck himself over his laps, hugging his legs and resting his head over the meaty flesh. He hears Nico’s soft breathed laugh and he settles a hand at the nape of his neck.

There’s no pain left in him, only a bone deep exhaustion, and he knows it’ll take him a couple days of heavy sleeping to recover. He wishes he could do something more, but for now this is enough. He glances up at the clock on Nico’s bedside table and yeah, he slept through the whole day. It’s ten past five, so roughly seven hours of sleep. And still he yawns as he settles on Nicolo’s legs, tucking the covers around himself to keep warm.

“It’s gone.” He says, voice rough from lack of use, and Nicolo’s thumb stops for a moment.

“I’m glad.” He says. “There’s leftover in the fridge. _Pesto alla Genovese_.” He offers, and it would be smart to eat. His empty stomach is protesting but the bed is warm and Nicolo’s hand is heavy in all the right way against his neck. He’ll have time to eat soon but for now he doesn’t want to move, he wants real sleep, not one used to escape from pain.

“No. Later.” He mumbles against the comforter and Nicolo’s thumb resume its movement.

“Ok. Go back to sleep hayati.” He says instead and Joe does, shoulders lighter now that the migraine has passed. It’s dark and quiet outside, the air is cool and he feels safe under Nicolo’s gentle ministration.

***

Joe opens his eyes because the sun is warming is face. He’s greeted by opened curtains and their bedroom view. He feels dizzy, seeing a room he knows so well after two days in near complete dark, almost like he doesn’t remember it at all even though nothing has changed. It takes him a moment to collect himself, and to realize he is miraculously pain free.

Two moments later and what he realizes is that he feels disgusting. His hair is mated to his skull by sweat, shirt in not much better state and hanging off his shoulders. He can taste the foul smell in his mouth and he can smell everything else on him. His tongue feels drier than a desert and his stomach is growling. Overall a usual morning after an attack.

But he is migraine free, and even though he is still tired he can feel the euphoria that follows days of pain settling in, like always. It makes him feel like a kid, like a naive teen who marvels at the slightest wonder. He only learned about four years ago that most who suffers from migraine feels that too, it’s biologic. After painful event, the brain is pumped full of good hormone --he didn’t really remember the technicalities. All he knows is that he’s not crazy, just biologically happy and it helped make him feels like guilty when he indulges after a migraine.

He is quick in the shower, scrubbing every inch of skin clean and spending a long and thorough time brushing his teeth and flossing. Once he feels vaguely more human shaped, he’s ready for the much-needed shot of caffeine but more importantly, Nicolo.

He’s greeted by the smell of coffee and warm bread when he walks into the kitchen and does it feel good to not have his stomach turns at the mere idea of food.

“Smells amazing.” He says and Nicolo startles, like he always does when he’s deep into cooking.

“Joe.” And he smiles, the small and soft smile that light up his face and Joe can’t help but take him in his arms.

“Good morning my love.” He mumbles against his shoulder, and he only push back enough to kiss properly, a long, soft kiss that leaves him breathless and filled with happiness. He missed this.

“ _Buongiorno_.” Nicky lays a finally kiss over his lips and turns his attention back to his pan, checking to see if whatever he’s cooking is burning. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Much better. Tired, and starving too. But the migraine is over.”

“Good.” Nicolo turns back long enough to put a mug of coffee in front of him, milk and sugar already in and Joe sighs.

“You’re a blessing my Nico.” He says and takes the first sip of the day, the simple taste already waking him up more than the shower did. He’s content to sip on it quietly until all the power is back in his brain. A few minutes later Nicolo slide a plate in front of him overflowing with buttered toast, cut fruits, dates and figs and eggs . A glass of juice follows along with a bowl of assida, and Joe is so hungry he could cry.

“Okay, taking it back, you’re an angel. Thank you habibi.” He doesn’t wait to dig in, knows Nicolo has already eaten if he’s cooking a meal like that. He sits with his own cup and Joe doesn’t even care that he looks at him with that soft smile he always has when he feels endeared by Joe, he’s too happy to mind his manners.

Halfway through cleaning his plate he does manage to squeeze out a sentence.

“I wanna make sushi today.” He announces proudly.

“We’ve never made sushi.” Nicolo answers coolly. “We don’t even have nori.” Joe shrugs and washes his mouthful down with coffee.

“It’s Monday. Shops are open. We can go buy what we need.”

“You want to make sushi.” Nicolo repeats.

“Yeah!” The dopamine or whichever hormones is responsible for this is flowing strong this morning. “It’ll be fun! And if we can’t make them we can still eat all the things together, don’t need them rolled to be good.”

“When did you get that idea?”

“About ten minutes ago in the shower.” He grins and he knows he’s won before Nico can even say yes. “Come on, it’ll be fun. I can even google the ingredients before we go.” That’s what makes Nicolo pretend stern face cracks. He shakes his head with a chuckle.

“If we get food poisoning from the raw fish, know that it’ll be on you.”

“I’m ready to risk it. We’ll go to a good fish shop.” They knock knees together under the table and Joe resume his eating. He has time to finish his plate and gets a second serving of coffee before Nicolo speaks again.

“I’m glad to have you back.” He says, quiet, takes his hand and Joe squeeze back. He knows it’s hard to see loved one suffers, and he’s eternally grateful that Nicolo sticks by his side.

“I’m glad to have you my heart.” He waits until Nicolo looks at him to continue. “I’m fine now. I’m okay. And I love you.” He nods, small, shaky movement.

“I love you too.” There’s a beat that feels sacred, a moment lost in each other eyes that’s interrupted by one of their phone ringing. “Come on.” Nicolo stands up and takes the empty plates. “I believe we have fish to buy, yes?”

**Author's Note:**

> Certainly riddled with typos and mistakes; it’s all mine because I wrote that while sleeping off my own migraine. Also, set in a Mediterranean country where Joe is studying, you can choose which one you prefer.
> 
> I’m [@salzundhonig](https://salzundhonig.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, posting a healthy dose of tog there if you wanna visit.


End file.
